Blade-O'-Grass. Golden Grain. and Bread and Cheese and Kisses.

II
THANK GOD FOR A GOOD BREAKFAST!

It is not necessary, nor is it within the limit of these pages, to narrate how the details necessary to make the day in the country a success were got through. Sufficient for my purpose to say that everything was satisfactorily arranged and completed on the evening before the appointed day. The number of applications was very great; ten times as many as we were able to take begged to be allowed to go. Mothers entreated; children looked imploringly into our faces. There were many heartaches, I am sure; but none suffered greater pain than we, the committee, upon whom devolved the duty of making the selection. But we gave pleasure to many; and for the others- Would there were more workers! Each can do a little, with time or purse, and that little may prove to be so much! Remember what the strongest and most beautiful trees were, once upon a time. So may a good life be developed even from such a seedling as this.

There was one anxiety which nature alone could allay, if it were kind: the weather. Many a heart beat with mingled hope and fear that night before the day, and many a child's prayer was thought and whispered that the sun would shine its best in the morning. Nature was kind, and the sun broke beautifully bright. How we congratulated ourselves, with smiling faces, as we all assembled at seven o'clock in the large warehouse I had borrowed for the occasion! The door was to be opened for the children at half-past seven.

I have mentioned the committee. Let me tell you who they were. All Mrs. Silver's family, of course. Mary and Charley had obtained a holiday, and Ruth was there with her baby, whom the fond mother every now and then consulted with bewitching gravity, and to whom she whispered, in the delicious tones that only a mother's voice can convey, all sorts of confidences about the party. I include in Mrs. Silver's family Mr. Merrywhistle, for he was truly one of them. But Mr. Merrywhistle was a member of the selecting committee for only one day; he had been summarily dismissed and deprived of power, because he found it impossible to say No to a single application. 'My rock ahead, sir,' he whispered to me confidentially, when we reproached him. 'I never can get that word out! I mean it often, but there's an imp in my throat that invariably changes it into Yes. I ought to know better at my age.' And he shook his head in grave reproof of himself. As Mrs. Silver had warned him, however, we gave him plenty to do. He was unanimously elected chief of the commissariat, and he made himself delightfully busy in the purchase of buns and fruit and lemonade. We were not aware that he was unfit even for this task, until we discovered that he had provided twice as many buns as were necessary. When his blunder was pointed out to him by Mrs. Silver on the ground, he gazed disconsolately at the heap of uneaten buns. 'Dear me!' he said mournfully, 'what is to be done with them? I suppose they must be divided among the children. You see, my dear madam, I am not to be trusted-not to be trusted!' But I am sure I detected a sly twinkle in his eye as he condemned his own shortcomings. In addition to the persons I have mentioned, there were two other members of the committee-to wit, Mr. Robert Truefit and Mr. James (or Jimmy) Virtue; as singular a contrast in individuals as can well be imagined. Robert Truefit I hold in high esteem. He is a fine, and I take pleasure in thinking a fair, representative of the sterling English working-man, with a higher intelligence than is possessed by the majority of his class. He is a married man, with a large and increasing family, and his earnings will probably average a trifle under two pounds a week. With these earnings he supports and 'brings up' his family in a manner which commands admiration. His children are likely to be a credit to the State; it is such as he who form the sound bone and muscle of a great nation. Jimmy Virtue is of a lower grade. Outwardly a cynic, one who sneers at goodness, but who has, to my knowledge, occasionally been guilty of an act of charity. He kept a leaving-shop in one of the worst thoroughfares in the locality where my duties lie. Everything about him outwardly was unprepossessing; the wrinkles in his face seemed to snarl at you; he had a glass eye, and he was ill-dressed and ostensibly ill-mannered to those in a better position than himself.

Such was Jimmy Virtue, of whom you will find, as you proceed, some exciting record. You may reasonably ask. How came such a man on your committee? Both Robert Truefit and Mr. Merrywhistle were his friends, and took pleasure in his society. This surprised me at first, but not afterwards. I found that, to read his character properly, it was necessary to read between the lines. Having lived amongst misery-mongers all his life, he was well acquainted with the class from which our children were to be chosen; and, as it proved, his services were most useful to us.

A word about Rachel in connection with the selection. Instances occurred where opinion was divided as to the suitability of candidates; it was our natural desire to choose those who were most deserving, and it was impossible to take them haphazard, as they presented themselves. Here was a mother with two children, pleading, entreating, imploring that they might be taken. Jimmy Virtue shook his head. Robert Truefit, with a quiet motion, also gave an adverse vote. We-the Silvers and I-were in favour of the applicants, but we felt that, the two dissentients were more fitted to judge than we. It seemed that there was something worse than usual against the mother, whose face grew almost wickedly sullen as she observed signs of a refusal in Truefit and Virtue.

'Let Rachel decide,' said Mrs. Silver.

We all experienced a feeling of relief at this suggestion. The woman and the children went aside with Rachel, and kept together for fully twenty minutes, while we continued the business of the hour. I, furtively watching the group in the corner of the large room, saw Rachel sit down and take the two miserable children by the hand. Then the woman went towards Rachel, and gradually the sullen expression in her face softened; and shortly afterwards she was on her knees by the side of the blind maid, listening and speaking with tears in her eyes. Not a word reached me; but when the interview was ended, Rachel rose and walked towards us with a child on each side of her. Behind her was the mother, hiding her face, as if ashamed of her tears. As Rachel stood before us, looking upwards, with her face of purity and goodness, clasping the ragged children to her, a light seemed to fall upon her in my eyes-a light which touched with merciful glance the figure of the wretched mother in the rear.

'I am to decide?' said Rachel, gently and earnestly.

'Yes, my dear.'

'Then we will take these little ones with us. They will be very good.'

'Very well, my dear.'

And their names were put down and instructions given to the weeping mother. The woman showed no gratitude to us; but as she turned to go, with a lingering look at Rachel, the blind girl held out her hand. The woman seized it, kissed it, and muttered, 'God love yer, miss!' We were all satisfied with Rachel's decision. Even Jimmy Virtue shut his useful eye and glared out of his glass one, that being, as I understood the action, the only mode he could find of taking a clear view of the difficulty.

Among those who were chosen were no fewer than seven children, maimed and deformed; one could not walk; another used crutches, and proved to be one of the most active of the whole party, much to our surprise, for when he applied, he appeared to be very lame indeed. One little fellow presented himself without a guardian; he was about six years of age, and had the largest and roundest eyes I ever saw in a child. To all our questions about his parents he gave no answer; he only stared at us.

'What is your name?'

He found his tongue. 'Jacky Brown.'

'And what do you want?'

'I wants to 'ave a ride and see a lot o' trees.'

'Who told you to come to us?'

'Old Rookey.'

'And what did Old Rookey tell you to say?'

'Old Rookey ses, he ses. You go, Jacky, and arks 'em to take yer to 'ave a ride and see the trees. And Old Rookey ses, he ses, Don't you come away, Jacky, till they puts your name down.'

Who Old Rookey was we were unable to discover. Jimmy Virtue recognised the child, and told us his mother was in prison, and that he didn't know how the little fellow lived. There was something so interesting about Jacky, that we promised to take him. We wrote instructions on a piece of paper, and gave it to him, telling him to give it to Old Rookey.

'You must come very clean, Jacky.'

'I'll tell Old Rookey,' he said. 'He knows wot's wot.'

Long before half-past seven o'clock on the holiday morning the children and their friends began to arrive. The committee of selection had given them to understand that they were to have breakfast before they came. At the back of the warehouse was a recess screened off by sacks hung over a line, in which were ample supplies of water, soap, and towels; and the girls were ready to do the washing, with their sleeves tucked up and aprons on to save their dresses. The process was this: we, the men, stood at the door and received the visitors, taking their names and otherwise identifying them, so that no deceit should be practised. Each child, as he established his right of entrance, was passed into the room, where, if he were not clean and tidy, he was made so, as far as possible, by the women. Some of them, I must admit, required washing badly; but when the work was done, and the children stood in lines along the benches, their bright eager faces and restless limbs formed a picture which dwelt vividly in my mind for a long time afterwards. Jacky Brown was very punctual, and, contrary to our expectation, very clean. We looked for some person answering to the description we had formed of Old Rookey, but we were not successful in finding him. Jacky had something to say to us.

'Old Rookey ses, he ses, you'll open yer eyes when yer sees me.'

And Jacky pointed to his well-polished face and held out his clean hands. We thought we would improve the occasion.

'We are very pleased with you, Jacky. It's much nicer to be clean than dirty, isn't it?'

But Jacky was dubious.

'It gets inter yer eyes, and 'urts,' he said.

Soap was evidently a disagreeable novelty to him.

Mrs. Silver and the girls were putting on their bonnets and getting ready for the start, when a serious innovation in our programme occurred. The guilty person was one of the most esteemed members of our own body.

'Children,' exclaimed Mr. Merrywhistle, suddenly stepping in front of them, 'have you had breakfast?'

A mighty shout arose of 'No!' but whether those who gave evidence were witnesses of truth I dare not venture to say.

'Then you shall have some,' cried Mr. Merrywhistle, with a triumphant look at us; but there was conscious guilt in his gaze.

The 'Hoorays!' that were sent forth in voices shrill and gruff formed a fine pæan certainly, but scarcely recompensed us at the moment for the loss of time. But it all turned out splendidly. Mr. Merrywhistle had planned his artifice skilfully, and, in less than seven minutes, buns and hot milk in mugs were in the hands of every member of our ragged crew. The moment we found we were compromised, we rushed to assist, and (although we were sure we were wrong in encouraging the traitor) we shook hands heartily with Mr. Merrywhistle, whose beaming face would have been sufficient excuse for fifty such innovations. I am not certain that, when the children were served, Ruth and Rachel did not take the good old fellow behind the screen of sacks where the washing had been done, and kiss him; for he came forth from that recess with an arm round the waist of each of the girls, and with his face beaming more brightly than ever.

In the middle of breakfast the vans rattled up to the door; they were decorated with bright ribbons and flags, and the drivers had flowers in their coats; the very horses wore rosettes. There were five vans, and they presented so gay an appearance that the street was filled with sight-gazers. Immediately the vans drew up-which they did smartly, as if they knew what they were about, and that this was a day of days-the children paused from their eating to give vent to another cheer, and another, and another. Their faces flushed, their little hands trembled, their restless limbs shifted and danced, and took part in the general animation. As for ourselves-Well, we paused also, and smiled at each other, and Ruth held baby's face to Charley to kiss.

'A fine sermon this, sir,' said Robert Truefit to me.

'Indeed, indeed,' I assented. 'Better than any that tongue can preach.'

There was no need to tell the children to hurry with their meal; they were too eager to be on the road.

'Now, children, have you finished?'

'Yes, sir! Yes, marm! Yes, miss!'

'Then thank God for a good breakfast!'

The simple thanksgiving was uttered by all with earnest meaning. Then out they trooped to the vans, the sight-gazers in the street waving their arms and hats at us. The deformed children were placed in advantageous positions, so that they could see the roads through which we were to drive, and were given into the charge of other children, who promised to take care of them; Jacky Brown had a seat on the box; we took our places on the vans; the drivers looked seriously at their reins; the horses shook their heads; and all was ready. If I had the space at my command, and were gifted with the power, what scenes I could describe here of mothers, sisters, friends, who showed their gratitude to us in various ways as we prepared to start! Not all of them as low as by their outward presence you would judge them to be. Written history-notwithstanding that we pin our faith to it, that we pride ourselves upon it, that we strive to shape our ends according to its teaching-is to unwritten history, in its value of example, as a molehill to a mountain; even the written history of great national conflicts, which strew the cornfields with dead and dying, upon whom we throw that sham halo called Glory, as compared with the unwritten history of courts and alleys, which we push out of sight with cruel carelessness.

III
THEY LISTENED WITH ALMOST BREATHLESS ATTENTION TO EVERY WORD THAT FELL FROM HER LIPS

And so, with our mud-larks and street arabs, we rode out of the busy city, away from the squalid walls in the shadow of which the bad lessons which lead naturally to bad lives are graven on the hearts of the helpless young. It was the end of August, and the corn was being cut. The children sniffed the sweet-smelling air, and asked one another if it wasn't prime. Every turn of the road through which we gaily trotted opened new wonders to our ragged crew; and we were kept busy answering the torrent of questions that were poured upon us. What's that? A field of clover. Three cheers for the clover. Fields of barley, wheat, oats, all were cheered for lustily. What's them fellers diggin' up? Potatoes. Hurrah for the taters! Hallo! here's a bank of lavender, filling the air with fragrance. Most of the children were noisy in their expressions of delight; but a few sat still, staring in solemn wonder. The golden corn which the scythe had not yet touched-how it bowed and waved and whispered in the breeze that lightly swept across it! How few of the uncultured children could be made to understand that bread-to them so scarce and precious-was made from these golden wavelets! A windmill! Another! The huge fans sailed slowly round. 'Here,' we said, 'the corn is ground to flour.' 'Wonder what makes the flour so white!' whispered a mudlark to his mate; ''t ought to be yaller.' Now we were driving along a narrow lane, between hedges; the sounds of music came from our rear. I stood up and looked. Some twenty or thirty yards behind the last van was a spring-cart, with a band of musicians in it. What cheers the children gave for 'the musicianers'! Their cup of happiness was full to the brim. I caught Mr. Merrywhistle's eye: it fell guiltily beneath my gaze; but as I smiled with grateful approval at him, he brightened up, and rubbed his hands joyously. Every popular air that the musicians played was taken up by a full chorus of voices. Here and there, along the country roads, housewives and children came out to look at us. There was a greeting for all of them from our noisy youngsters, and they greeted us in return. One woman threw a shower of apples into the vans, and received in return the acknowledgment, 'Bravo, missis! You're a good sort, you are!' At half-past ten we reached our destination-a very pretty spot, with a wood adjacent, and a meadow to play in. Everything had been judiciously arranged, and, marshalling the children, we acquainted them with the programme. They were free for two hours to do as they pleased. They might play their games where they liked in forest or meadow. The band would play in the meadow. But a promise was to be exacted from them. They were to be kind to every living creature they came across; they were to kill nothing. Would they promise? 'Yes, sir; yes, marm; yes, miss! We won't 'urt nothink!' Very well, then. In two hours the horn would sound, three times. Like this. Listen. The musician who played the horn gave the signal. When they heard that again they would know that dinner was ready; they were not to go too far away, else they would not hear it, and would lose their dinner. 'No fear, master!' they shouted. 'Let's give three cheers,' one of them cried. 'And look 'ere! The boys fust, and the gals arterwards.' So the cheers were given as directed, and the boys laughed heartily at the girls' piping voices. 'Now, then, you all understand- But stop! what is this?' Here was Mr. Merrywhistle again, with another of his triumphantly-guilty looks, introducing new features into the programme. Two of the biggest boys were carrying a trunk towards us, and when it was opened, out came balls, and traps and bats, and rounder-sticks, and kites, and battledores and shuttlecocks, and skipping-ropes. The shout that arose as these things were given out was mightier than any that had preceded it, as the boys and girls, like wild birds released from prison, rushed off with their treasures.

'I suppose,' said Mrs. Silver, with the kindest of looks towards Mr. Merrywhistle, 'there is no reclaiming you.'

'I'm too old, I'm too old,' he replied deprecatingly. 'I hope you don't mind.'

Mind! Why, he had done just the very things that we had forgotten, and the very best things too, to keep the youngsters out of mischief. We had plenty to do. Here and there was a solitary one, who knew nobody in all that wild band, wandering by himself, and casting wistful glances at the other children who were playing. Here was a little fellow who had lost his brother, crying lustily. Here was a shy timid girl, absolutely without a friend. All these human strays-strays even among the forlorn crew of youngsters who were tasting a pure enjoyment for the first time in their lives-we collected together and formed into bands, instructing them how to play, and taking part in their games until they were sufficiently familiarised with each other to get along without help. The children who were unable to run about we arranged comfortably together in a place where they had a clear view of the sports. Rachel, by tacit consent, took this group under her care; and not long afterwards I saw her seated in the midst of them, and heard her telling them, in admirable language and with admirable tact, the best of those fairy stories which delight our childhood's days. Blind as Rachel was, she could see deeper into these children's hearts than we. They listened with almost breathless attention to every word that fell from her lips-and every word was sweet-and saw the scenes she painted, and learnt the lessons she taught. Among all our children there was no happier group than this over which she presided; and many whose limbs were straight and strong approached the deformed group, and listened in delight and wonder. During the whole of that day I noticed how the most forlorn and friendless of the children congregated about Rachel. Perhaps they saw in her blindness something akin to their own condition, and eyes that might have been mournful grew soft and tender beneath the influence of her sightlessness and kindly help. One of the most favourite pastimes of the day was dancing to the music of the band. Such dancing! Girls went round and round in the waltz with a solemn enjoyment in their faces most wonderful to witness; boys, more demonstrative, executed amazing steps, and flung their arms and their legs about in an extraordinary manner. There were two champion dancers-boys of about twelve years of age-whose capers and comicalities attracted large audiences. These boys, by some means had secreted about their persons two immense pairs of 'nigger' shoes, which were now tied on to their feet. They danced, they sang, they asked conundrums of each other with amusing seriousness; and I was privately and gravely informed that they intended to become negro minstrels, and were saving up to buy a banjo. Dinner-time came, and the horn was blown. Such a scampering never was seen, and dull eyes lightened, and bright eyes grew brighter, at the sight of the well-stocked tables. If it were necessary, I could vulgarise this description by mention of certain peculiarities-forms of expression and such-like-which existed among our guests; but it is not necessary. No one's enjoyment was marred, and every youngster at our tables was perfectly happy. The children stood while I said grace. I said but a very few words, and that the brevity of the grace was appreciated was evidenced by a remark I overheard. 'That's proper! I thort the parson-chap was goin' to pray for a hour.' The children ate very heartily, and here and there, with the younger ones, we had to exercise a salutary check. But the older boys and girls were beyond our control. 'Tuck away, Sal!' cried one. 'It'll be all over to-morrer!' When the children-dinner being finished-were, at play again, we had a little leisure. Mrs. Silver, seated on a bench, looked around upon her family and friends, and said, with a satisfied smile,

'I really am tired, my dears.'